O Captain, My Captain
by Almedha
Summary: In the week following *Into Darkness Spoilers*. Oneshot-drabbly-fluff-things.
1. Chapter 1

_Paramount owns Star Trek, not I. "O Captain, My Captain," the poem I have throughout, is by Walt Whitman. (I did change a word or two of the poem to make it fit better… Actually, maybe just one word. And I think it's misquoted that way fairly often anyhow.) I suppose the way I wrote this makes my inspiration quite obvious: a series of one-shots (mostly Spock-centric because… Spock.) hopefully made cohesive by my inspiration. I know I'm not the only one who misses the days when Star Trek would reference great literature of an episode while taking time out of a life-and-death situation to philosophize about life and death and bigger things… (haha) (but for serious: TOS quotes ftw) _

_Alright. On to the fic. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

_O Captain! My Captain! our fearful trip is done;  
__The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;  
__The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,  
__While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:__  
_

"Let's give it another go, then," Scotty spoke into the comm panel.

Engineers from their perches around the _Enterprise_ voiced their agreement, saying they were ready, and Scotty set up another test for the primary power converter. It had spontaneously failed yesterday—which wasn't surprising. The day before that she had been in the fight of her life. He'd said she was dead. Gone. Last time he ever underestimate anything. Anyone.

Miracles happened.

But it was impossible to do all this work in the dark, which was what they sat in right now except for the spontaneous flickering of the overhead lights and the flashlight bit between his teeth. The lights fizzed and sputtered and, it seemed, _tried_ to come on.

It was her. She was telling him she was still trying, still fighting for her life. _I'm down, not out_.

So were they all, he hoped. "All right. Here goes. Keep an eye on your monitors, boys."

If only it were as simple as flipping a switch… He tapped into his control PADD—which was not actually part of the _Enterprise_, just hooked up by a thin wire—and prayed. The lights flickered on.

And stayed. The lights reflected off every surface like a million fairies gracing all of engineering, maybe the entire ship. They needed the good luck; he saw them that way. The lights coming back on was just another sign. Another way she was talking to him. He listened to his crew of engineers all over the ship whooping and hollering, cheers went up from nearly every living soul aboard.

Except Scotty. He just leaned back against the wall, looked up at the warp engine stretching up into the empty space above, and smiled. Her heart still beat in there… She was a fighter, that was for sure. All the same, he didn't feel like celebrating so boisterously… And, if the_ Enterprise_ had feelings, Scotty thought she might agree.

"That's my girl," he whispered.

"What are you doing up there, sir?"

Scotty looked down from the only spot he could configure to have a view of the warp core and an easy reach to the only junction that appeared to be working at the moment, at the curly-haired kid. Chekov wasn't celebrating, either. He was also not an engineer, not technically, but he had apparently done as well as he could have while Scotty was away. He hadn't counted the holes in the ship, yet. Not that they were Chekov's fault…

"Trying to put her back together…" Scotty sighed. "Trying to work."

"Oh…" His voice trailed away for a moment, and Scotty didn't say anything. He looked at his PADD. One item down, however many more to go. He clearly wasn't in the mood for counting today. "Ensign Chekov: reporting for duty, sir," Chekov said next, snapping to a slack, tired attention when Scotty hadn't said anything for a while.

Scotty thought about that a minute. He wasn't even sure where to begin. He had been at this longer than anyone, but…

He lost his train of thought. "Where have you come from?" he asked.

"The bridge, sir," the Russian trilled.

"Haven't you been back yet, then?" he went on. Most of the crew had already begun cycling out to go back down to Earth to rest and swapped out with fresh help. Help that hadn't been awake for the past forty-eight hours. Was it really that long? No, longer. Longer. Longer, really? No. Shorter. Who knew?

Maybe everyone had been moving so quickly that time itself had slowed down.

"No, sir," he answered after a pause.

"Kids…" Scotty muttered, shaking his head. "You cannae do any good half-awake."

The ensign shook his head, "No, sir," but didn't make to leave. He didn't seem to be about to do anything except stand and stare. He had the thought to send Chekov down to the planet. Maybe he had some relatives in Russia that would have been happy to see him. On the other hand… Russian summers, Russian winters. What was the difference?

Ah, well. Scotty hadn't been back yet and he was doing just fine dozing between one task and the next. And he wasn't really a kid anymore. Not really. Best to keep busy, anyway. Not much else to do besides fix what could be fixed and worry and wait about the rest of it.

The ensign looked beaten and defeated. Not like they'd just survived the fight of their lives. Funny, times like these, the only thing he wanted to do was lie down to sleep but as soon as he shut his eyes a moment, the only thing he wanted to do was work.

"All right, come here," Scotty said with a wave, sliding down from his perch to show him the PADD.


	2. Chapter 2

_But O heart! heart! heart!  
__O the bleeding drops of red,  
__Where on the deck my Captain lies,  
__Fallen cold and dead.__  
_

That was the nice thing about wounds like this, Leonard thought, affixing an autosuture to a rather ugly wound sustained from falling debris of some kind. So much falling debris in San Francisco, and his patient wasn't really in a talking mood, so he guessed he would never know what caused this. Leonard wasn't in a talking mood himself.

But bloody wounds, he decided, were the best right now. He could clean them up. He could heal them.

He had been a doctor for a long time, though. He was used to that. He was used to patients dying. There were things he couldn't do—he was a doctor, not a miracle worker. He was just lucky, and sometimes not even that. But that saying? Time heals all wounds? That was a big, damned lie.

Another twenty minutes of this and he would go back upstairs. There was nothing to do up there; it was up to Jim now, and he wasn't up to much. But he'd go up there anyway and watch what couldn't be seen or predicted or known for sure.

If a watched pot didn't boil, he wondered if it would ward off a fever, too.

That didn't make a lick of sense, but he didn't bother berating himself about it. He had to keep his mind on what he was doing. Better than letting his mind wander to other things. Wander, like his feet began wandering the halls in the dead of night even though he knew he needed to sleep. His wandering mind was even less tired than wandering feet, though.

He looked up at his patient with a terse smile, the best he could manage, and went on to the next.

The next patient, broken bones. Then lacerations. Third-degree burns on 20% of the body. All simple. All seen. All fixed in a few minutes. He conversed with what doctors were there, but there wasn't much to say. Some of them were happy to be alive, but knew better than to present a jovial attitude around Leonard. The heads he'd bitten off within the last few days weren't literal, but at least they'd gotten the point.

There was just a point when a person was too tired, concerned, and shell-shocked. No one in the vicinity was allowed to pretend life would go on as usual. Maybe, for them, it would. Maybe it would for everyone, but he didn't want to think about that now.

He chewed on his lip and cursed. He was a doctor, damnit, so why wasn't he acting like one?

He found himself upstairs. All the rooms on either side, whether the patients within were conscious or not, were lined with windows out to the city. If they were going to die, the last thing they saw should have been spectacular. Jim's looked out in the opposite direction from Starfleet Command, away from all the destruction. Even if he were awake, he couldn't see it. Like Leonard couldn't see the damage here. Not really. Burnt from the inside out, very little showed on the outside before he'd ordered him put in stasis. He only hoped they hadn't been too late.

Hoped this crazy chance worked.

He stood outside the open door, stared inside, but didn't see anything. He could only see the medical bay on the _Enterprise_. They'd brought Jim in, but—he wasn't there. How he'd managed to keep standing there, he guessed he'd never know. He'd made it to the chair instead of falling on the deck, somehow.

He still wasn't sure even now. He wanted to hope Jim would live. And he would. He would hope. Death somehow seemed impossible for James T. Kirk. But just in case it wasn't…

_Don't think like that,_ he thought, grinding his fingernails into the door jamb. His supposed last words weren't exactly what Leonard might have called eloquent, but that was understandable. The man was melting at the cellular level; it was a considerable feat he'd gotten half-sentences out. But not exactly what he might have attributed to Jim.

Jim had known he was dying—that's what really hurt the rest of them. That warp-core was his final Kobyashi Maru… he'd failed—and passed—at the same time. He'd spoken to Spock; their conversation too brief to hold any more meaning than the despair that filled everyone as they realized this was it. There was no way out.

Leonard looked around, seeing no one there to observe his talking to someone who couldn't even hear him. He hadn't the time to say goodbye then, and he prayed—to what, he didn't know—that it was unnecessary now. "Not that there was any time, Jim…" he started, quietly. Not that he was bitter—no, Jim was his best friend and all there was to do at the time was talk to Spock. The Vulcan couldn't keep it together that well after losing his planet.

Leonard supposed that was understandable. He looked around again. No one, still. He looked back at Jim. He guessed, it could be summed up pretty well. He only needed three words.

"It was… fun."

_O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;  
__Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;  
__For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;  
__For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;_


	3. Chapter 3

_O captain! dear captain!  
__This arm beneath your head;  
__It is some dream that on the deck,  
__You've fallen cold and dead.__  
_

_He looks exhausted_, Spock thought. Leonard McCoy was speaking, blathering on, actually, about all the reasons he needed to stay right where he was. Most of what he was saying came out in slurred grasps of reality, not entirely full-formed in meaning, though he probably didn't realize. He also probably hadn't heard that he had actually repeated himself three separate times in the past five minutes alone.

"It would be better if you would rest," Spock interrupted, mid-sentence.

"I can't rest now!" He looked shocked. As best a Human could look shocked on no more than five hours of sleep in forty-eight hours, anyway. He babbled about the casualties. Too few doctors and too many patients. All the injuries by the _Enterprise_ crew and he wanted to make sure they were all right.

Long and short of it, though, Doctor McCoy was being purposefully obtuse. Either that or lack of sleep had affected his judgment more than Spock had originally thought. "You are not the only doctor in San Francisco; I'm certain the others will get along fine without you."

"Damnit—Spock." He sighed heavily, rubbing at his bleary eyes before blinking repeatedly, looking around. Judging by the way he proceeded to squint up at him, however, he couldn't see very well. Nevertheless, he spun about, about to stalk off back down the hallway. "I'm fine; I'm fine. I gotta get back to work."

"_Fine_ has variable definitions; _fine_ is unacceptable," Spock said, and Doctor McCoy stopped mid-stride. Why Humans used that term in such a cavalier manner, as though it meant something, was beyond him.

When he whirled back around, somewhat unsteady, it was obvious he was going to argue more. It was always obvious when he was going to argue. He got this look in his eyes and a strange kink in his lips that Spock might have found condescending if he were so inclined. "I will _personally_ advise you of any change in the captain."

"Don't you have something to do, Spock?" the Doctor growled. Or perhaps it was more a groan. He had been in a perpetually bad mood from stress and lack of sleep since this whole thing started and Captain Kirk's lack of progress in the last few days had done little for his outlook. Little for everyone's outlook.

But, much like Scott, Sulu, and Chekov had to be ordered to leave the _Enterprise_ to the equally-as-qualified hands of other Starfleet engineers, Doctor McCoy needed some convincing that Spock's watchful eyes were just as good as his own. "I have reports to record," Spock answered, showing him the PADD he was carrying behind his back. McCoy eyed it like it was some kind of alien artifact. "I thought him impossible to disturb."

Doctor McCoy nodded, cleared his throat idly, and looked around. His eyes seemed to trace the corner of the floor and the wall. Spock looked, but saw nothing of interest there. This place was impeccably clean, as hospitals were wont to be. Sterile, quiet, empty of any vivacity. It was as though life didn't even exist here. Especially this part of the hospital.

"This is where people go to _die_, Spock," the Doctor whispered. "And they often do unless some miracle or higher power intervenes."

"Doctor," Spock tried to interrupt.

"We may be on the top floor, but it's just as easy a one-way trip from here to the morgue in the basement. Patients up here don't get the time because they aren't worth it; they'll probably die anyway, right?"

"Doctor McCoy."

"Especially now, especially with all the other patients that need help that _can_ be saved. And far be it from me to have a God-complex, but I know I can save him even if that blood can't. Now that I have a chance. But it's a small chance. Infinitesimally small—do you understand that? But I can't if I'm not here, Spock."

Spock watched him for anything else he had to say. So he was finished. He was shaking, one finger jabbed down toward the floor as though the very spot he stood on were vital to the captain's survival. But he was fooling himself. If he lived then, he did. If not, then… Well, as a Human colloquialism put it, that bridge could be crossed when the road led to it. Or something like that.

"You are no help to him putting yourself through antique forms of torture," Spock pointed out.

"How the hell do you think I got through med school?"

He chuckled, then, not at all the finish to that remark that Spock expected. Humans were very… very strange when they were exhausted… Although, it was more than that, of course. It was also the shock. Much had happened in a single day, and two days hadn't put enough distance on the tragedy. Families all over the planet mourned the loss of loved ones while the community of San Francisco had already started to rebuild.

Individual lives were so much more delicate. A house of cards built to fall when one was excised.

"You may take my word that you will be notified at the slightest change. A tenth of a degree and I will call you."

"Promise?"

"I would not lie."

"Yeah, you would…" McCoy chuckled again, and made for the lift, albeit in a zigzag form.

Spock wondered if he would make it to his quarters all right. He decided not much could possibly happen between here and there, and besides that he would be quite angry at Spock for leaving the Captain alone. A tenth of a degree. Hopefully the doctor understood that he hadn't meant that literally. He hadn't been lying… merely "exaggerating." Doctor McCoy knew what that meant.

His way of getting used to the fact that his Human side was more dominant than he liked to pretend.

He went into the room where the captain laid under a white sheet, so high up in the city and lined with a bank of windows that any officer in Starfleet would love to have in his office. The cityscape was pristine, at least in this direction, dotted with sparkling lights under the night sky. The other side of the hospital offered a full view of the destruction that Khan had caused. Only to the city.

The real destruction was within these walls.

Spock sat down in the singular chair in the room, the one designated for visitors, and tapped on his PADD. Some were celebrating their avoided brush with death already, he thought, browsing the news and memos from Starfleet. A parade was in the planning stages, previously in celebration of an Earth holiday, but given the circumstances it had been changed slightly to include homage to the captain and the _Enterprise_. It would be ideal if he were awake for it, but Spock would settle for that he still be alive.

Before he knew it, twenty minutes had passed and he had not yet started on his report. He had decided to recommend commendations for the crew that had insisted to stay on the _Enterprise_ during her darkest hours, despite his orders to the contrary. Illogical, but morally praiseworthy. They would have been recalled as heroes had they died, so why not as they lived, too? The same went for Jim… but he didn't need the boost to his ego as far as Spock was concerned.

Nevertheless, he was sure that he would be rewarded for saving the _Enterprise_, her crew, and countless others. He seemed to err on the side of heroics more often than not, and always against better judgment. Spock had traced through the possibilities of what might have and should have happened two days ago. He always came to the same conclusion: death was inevitable for the captain. So, perhaps he had known that…

However… that did not make it any more acceptable.


	4. Chapter 4

_My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;  
__My captain does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;  
__The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;  
__From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;__  
_

__All of the _Enterprise_ crew were on leave. All of them save one. Spock stood in engineering, looking at the quietly throbbing warp core as though it were something offensive and watched it. It wasn't going anywhere, not doing anything except list aimlessly in space; but the _Enterprise_ was in far better shape than only a few days ago. Seven days seemed to have gone by so quickly._  
_

He wasn't sure why he'd approved the leave for _everyone_. Every last one. It was not as though they had the time to be frolicking around on Earth when there was so much work to be done everywhere. But it was also not as though these projects couldn't wait. They could. Recovery was a long an arduous process, and speeding it along at this juncture was pointless.

There was only one reason Spock could come up with for his sudden goodwill and generosity. The only reason he could conjure up to be alone. He wasn't sure why it was so important, but it was. Solitude was healing, in its own way. Calming and settling, as meditation hadn't been recently.

He put his hands together, steepled his fingers, and looked at them.

Not that he focused on them; he couldn't focus. Hadn't for weeks, wouldn't for more. It was the way of things. More Human than he would have liked to admit, would have wanted to be. Humans were such pathetically fragile creatures. It seemed that way. He was one of them. He guessed he would have hated that. He supposed he knew how to hate, now.

"Spock."

He didn't look at Uhura when she spoke. She wasn't supposed to be here, he thought. She was supposed to be on Earth with the others. Not on the _Enterprise._ He was supposed to be alone.

"What are you doing?"

She was certainly persistent. Persistent in tragedy. Did she not know by now that he needed this solitude? "I am… contemplating."

"Contemplating what?"

Before he knew it, before he realized, he was speaking. He hadn't even the time to think before the words were out and about and he realized they were all true. They had been bouncing about in this confusing brain, but he had only barely enough time to organize his thoughts to stand a few hours ago. He hadn't moved.

"Contemplating returning to New Vulcan," he said. "I realize now that it was likely a mistake I remain with Starfleet; there is little I can do here that will measure up to the good I can do there." He turned to look at her.

She looked confused and yet accepting. She often looked at him with those brown eyes and he wished he understood what was happening behind them… in a way. And as soon as he realized that he knew more of that than he wanted to admit, he made another realization.

"But perhaps I do not belong there."

"On New Vulcan?" she questioned, while he turned his back to her again.

"Yes," he answered. "I am unlike other Vulcans; I am… different."

"That's not a bad thing," she offered, running her hand up his shoulder. He only barely felt it.

"Is it not?" he asked.

He waited for her to answer, but she seemed to be thinking, so he thought, too. He thought he belonged on the _Enterprise_, where he could be useful, but now these gray walls only revolted him. Perhaps that feeling would pass with time, but he felt more a monster now than any other being that had been within these walls in the past few weeks.

And that was saying a lot.

"You belong," she said.

"And where," Spock prodded, "would you estimate I belong, Nyota?"

She paused for a long time. And here they stood on the edge, Spock between one decision and another, one moment and the next, of forever. If only she would tell him where he belonged, he might be able to believe it and move forward. When she finally answered, it was as if two voices, past and present, spoke together. As if he'd believed it once. He would believe it again.

"At his side, as if you've always been there and always will."

_Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!  
__But I, with mournful tread,  
__Walk the deck my captain lies,  
__Fallen cold and dead.__  
_


End file.
